Desperate Fugitives

Armor like writhing snakes covered Lorenzo's body. Rather than armor, it was more like a cluster of serpents climbing over him, intertwining to form this eerie shell. Blinding white flames surged from the gaps in the plating, as if beneath the armor lay not flesh and blood, but a sacred spirit forged entirely of fire.

"Sabo, killing a demon requires destroying more than just the heart; you must destroy the brain as well."

A low voice resonated in the air, and the burning blade swung down with ease, severing the grasping arm in an instant.

The wound left by the blade was not a clean cut, but a patch of pitch-black char. The extreme heat had incinerated every cell the moment it struck, reducing them to drifting ash.

Immediately after, the light from the heavens pierced through the darkness.

Lorenzo stood atop the wooden stakes, bathed in fire. The intense heat scorched everything around his feet. His wounds were healing—not quickly, but enough to keep him from dying just yet.

This was the terrifying resilience of a demon. Even if the brain were destroyed, the body would continue to act on instinct; if the heart were destroyed, the body could still fight for a time, driven by sheer will. Those with high purity of Secret Blood, like Lorenzo, could even force a rapid recovery, though the cost was steep. Yet, compared to life itself, such costs were worthless.

"Is this the sliver of hope from within the box?"

Watching that tranquil light, Sabo's eyes filled with tears.

"In the end, you really are different from me. What I gained from the Secret Blood was this twisted body, while you... you can be so sacred..."

In the end, even the ominous Secret Blood rejected Sabo. Despite both he and Lorenzo sharing the same blood, the results were entirely different. His grotesque body curled slowly, his head bowing like a disappointed child.

"A hypocritical sanctity, that is all."

The snakes crawled up Lorenzo's neck, sucking his blood, and in return, their hardened scales became his armor.

The burning cane sword lowered, and Lorenzo hunched his shoulders—the prelude to a strike.

Dawn was coming to illuminate everything, leaving the darkness nowhere to hide. But like the final revelry before death, the time before dawn was also the darkest—a profound night, the final counterattack from the shadows.

The rock walls overhead grew dry as all moisture evaporated. It was the fire from above; under the work of the Purification Agency, the blaze had reached the lowest level. Whether demon or human, no one would survive that lethal heat. Bodies would turn to charcoal inch by inch, crumbling into light ash to sleep forever beneath the earth.

The entire world teetered on the brink. The fragile underground palace collapsed layer by layer, like an elderly man whose organs were failing one by one. It was dying. Soon, this lowest level would be crushed by the stone slabs above. Time was running out for the two of them. Countless shards of rock and dust fell, sending ripples across the water. Only one of them would leave alive.

Thus, a mottled rapier pierced through the heavy dust. Crimson eyes burned with jealousy toward Lorenzo—he envied everyone in the world. The sharp blade clashed against the fire sword; the dark gray metal turned red-hot from the heat, and blood dripping onto it evaporated in an instant.

"No one can choose their birth, but you can decide your future!"

Sabo shrieked. Though his body was already a deformed monster, he still believed he could survive. He would survive; it was his only wish.

Lorenzo traded blows with him. At this level, swordsmanship no longer mattered; it was merely a technique for killing, not a blade for slaying demons.

There was no technique to speak of. The two fought like primitive monsters, a raw, brutal slaughter. The rapier struck the sturdy snake scales, sparking brilliantly and leaving deep gouges, while the burning blade scorched the sinful flesh, only for the proliferating tissue to quickly replace what had died.

Like the Ouroboros devouring its own tail, they destroyed and were reborn, until one of them fell.

"There is no chance left, Sabo. Many things are set in stone the moment you make your choice."

Lorenzo stated coldly.

Everything tonight stemmed from that Sacred Coffin, and the anomaly in the palace originated from the Doctor associated with it. Lorenzo had dealt with many such cases; he knew well that the Doctor had left behind Secret Blood, and its widespread diffusion had caused those people to mutate into demons. Sabo was the only one among them who had retained his sanity.

No, perhaps he had only become this way because of the Secret Blood. His deformed body could no longer sustain itself; only the Secret Blood could offer him a turning point.

The fire sword struck repeatedly, like a blacksmith's hammer, frantically pounding against steel and fire.

Lorenzo forced Sabo back and immediately pressed the advantage. The water boiled from the heat, rising in mist that reflected their hideous shadows and the light.

Another roar erupted as the collapse drew near. This time, Lorenzo swung his sword with all his might, and amidst the thunderous sound, the red-hot rapier snapped.

It was the sword that had accompanied Sabo for many years, and today, it finally broke. He grabbed the jagged fragment, overgrown flesh wrapping around it, and stabbed toward Lorenzo, the blade piercing the tiny gap in the armor and cutting deep into the flesh.

Sabo opened his mouth, his sharp teeth biting down hard on Lorenzo. He had no sword left, but he still had sharp teeth and strong arms. He would tear out Lorenzo's throat; his arms would drown him in the water.

He hadn't lost yet. He could keep going.

The rock ceiling finally gave way to the weight and began to collapse. Countless boulders crashed down, completely destroying the underground river. Their duel was interrupted by this sudden change; the river water swept them up, slamming them against jagged rocks at the bottom before dragging them under.

In the murky depths, the scorching fire still burned. Like the madness of a drowning man, their figures twisted together. After a brief pause, they fought in the turbulent water—it was no longer a battle between humans, but one between beasts.

Heavy debris pressed down on them. Dark red blood surged from the gaps in the armor and torn flesh, drifting with the current. The massive drop in elevation slammed them against the surrounding rock walls.

Sabo tore at Lorenzo with his sharp claws and fangs. The black iron armor withered away like scales, releasing searing heat, while the burning cane sword repeatedly shredded Sabo's abdomen, killing and reviving him over and over.

Whimpering roars echoed as Sabo gripped Lorenzo's head, refusing to let go even as the leaking flames burned his palms. Like iron pincers, he held him down, slamming him against the protrusions on the riverbed.

Lorenzo's assault suddenly stiffened, as if something had jammed him, preventing him from fully "mutating." The flames flickered, but in the final moment, Lorenzo broke free from Sabo's hold underwater. Ignoring his own wounds, he wrapped his burning palms tightly around Sabo's head, and the intense heat evaporated everything.

In the chaotic, murky blue world, faint light flickered, but the massive torrent swept it all away.

By the end of the tangled death match, both seemed exhausted. Between blood loss, injuries, the freezing current, and suffocation, they weakly let go of each other and were washed toward the edge of the sewer exit.

There was no grand finale, only two men washed ashore like dead dogs.

Perhaps a few seconds or a few minutes passed before one of the bodies finally moved again. A twisted hand gripped the edge of the bank, and Sabo crawled onto the shore with great difficulty. He gasped for air, the flesh on his abdomen twisting and writhing. Cold air filled his lungs, and tears streamed down his face. Though in agony, he was alive. He was still alive.

He had nothing left, having become a fugitive once more. His remaining arm clawed at the ground, dragging his body forward and leaving a wide trail of blood behind him.

His vision was a blur; Sabo could only judge his direction by the feel of the breeze. Lorenzo's final strike at the river bottom had nearly melted his skull. Though he hadn't succeeded, his fragile eyeballs had been destroyed, and he needed time to recover.

Sabo was only one step away from freedom. He had built this escape route himself; he knew exactly what to do next. Outside the narrow sewer lay the Thames River, where small boats would slowly pass by, allowing him to board at the necessary point. Once Sabo reached the Thames, he would be free. No one could stop him again.

Lorenzo crawled onto the shore behind him. He retched, spitting out blood mixed with river water. His face was deathly pale, his black armor was all but gone, and his cane sword had been lost in the struggle, but he still gripped the Winchester tightly in his hand.

"Sabo, you have nowhere left to run."

Lorenzo leaned against the wall, mocking the body that was crawling with every ounce of its remaining strength.

He tapped the shotgun hard, but it was soaked with gravel and water, rendering it useless. Lorenzo let out a long sigh and clutched his wounds, trying to stand.

Sabo continued to crawl forward, ignoring Lorenzo's words entirely, his mind set only on moving ahead. Lorenzo lunged at him, pinning him down firmly, his remaining blood attempting to ignite, but the sharp bone blade rose from beneath the flesh to stab Lorenzo once more.

The two wrestled on the ground until Sabo's bone blade struck down one last time, piercing Lorenzo's thigh and pinning him to the floor.

With no desire to prolong the fight, Sabo continued forward. Watching that stubborn figure, Lorenzo was suddenly struck by a sense of profound pity; he was so persistent, and even though death was already knocking at the door, he still held onto the hope of survival. Perhaps, in this moment, Lorenzo understood him.

Sabo possessed nothing but his life, and life was the one thing that would never betray him; that was enough, more than enough.

The figure ahead kept moving, searing flames burning upon his body. It was then that Lorenzo noticed the steel protruding from his flesh—it was his Cane Sword. During the chaotic collisions in the underground river, Lorenzo had accidentally driven the blade into his abdomen, piercing his heart.

Sabo was dying; the burning fire had long since consumed his internal organs.

In the end, he stopped, having exhausted all his strength, yet still failing to crawl out of the dark tunnel.

"Am I going to die?"

Looking at the slowly approaching Lorenzo, he leaned on the bone blade that had pierced him, looking utterly wretched.

Lorenzo nodded, his black clothes tattered, his expression filled with peace and sorrow, like a friend attending a funeral.

"Mr. Holmes, life is a gamble. You take your only chips and try to win everything in life. I think I've done it, but I was just a little short, just a little..."

As he spoke, red tears streamed down that hideous face. He had finally reached Inverwig, reached Old Dunling; he had possessed wealth and power, and in the end, he had even shed the shackles of his deformed body. He had possessed everything, yet now he was going to die.

"Will you pray for me?"

The voice asked weakly, pleading with the former priest, but it was a long time before Lorenzo spoke slowly.

"It's unnecessary, Sabo. You don't believe in God, so what use would prayer be?"

Lorenzo stepped past Sabo toward the place bathed in light, never looking back.

"Dead is dead. There is no heaven and no hell, only eternal silence."

Sabo was stunned for a long time, then seemed to find release.

"Is that so... what a shame..."

The searing white flames completely engulfed the monster's husk, burning through his internal organs and then his brain. The blackened skeleton teetered in the ashes before collapsing into the surging river, sinking forever beneath the Thames River.

The charred head drifted past Lorenzo under the water. Though it was only a glance, it was hard to imagine that such a serene expression could exist on that hideous face.

The outlaw had finally stopped, enjoying the peace that had long since arrived.